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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213961">take me away from me.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie'>Prettything_uglylie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020 [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Drabble Sequence, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Kneeling, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:22:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tied taut as a bowstring, Nicolo di Genova's arrow finds its notch in Yusuf the moment they enter the safehouses' bedroom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020 [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take me away from me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey, so this is a little long but I love it and I enjoy it! I hope you too enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Tied taut as a bowstring, Nicolo di Genova's arrow finds its notch in Yusuf the moment they enter the safehouses' bedroom. Yusuf seems to know what he needs - <em>always does </em>- and his hands are gentle as they comb through Nicky's hair, gentle in a way the Italian worries his own hands don't know anymore if they ever did know it. Yusuf is gentle here, soft, as he lowers Nicky's forehead to touch his knee and Nicky falls to the church pew worship that is his husband's body like it's easy - it is in a way, the devotion of love not that different fro the devotion of religion but much better for him and Joe and everyone involved. </p><p>"Amore Mio," Joe murmurs, voice a soft hymn, and Nicolo, a priest in a life before this one, has never known one so beautiful. His hands run through his hair, catching lightly on the ends that have grown a little too long - he will cut it soon, using the neon lights of a dingy motel room and a pair of scissors with hands do not shake as they do now, or he will risk thinking about how Quynh used to braid his hair when it got too long to be properly kept and he cannot run constantly with that reminder - but with the tugs, his posture falls into one resembling Booker's - Booker, he stifles a sob against the bone of Joe's knee at the memory of their lost brother. "The mission?" </p><p>He nods, the easiest he owes Joe and the smallest he'd ever give his heart before biting into the bone of his lover's knee. <em>Quite a Christian, </em>Yusuf had said on the battlefield, snarling over his scimitar,<em> hungry for flesh</em>, and Nicky wishes he could say he doesn't remember why that memory has stuck with him; perhaps it be for the hate in Yusuf's eyes or the snarl in his voice or the fear that struck Nicky's heart like one of the arrows that he was right. He fears it all the time, especially on nights like this one. </p><p>The mission had been dreadful, too close a call with a gun aimed at the head of the newly-mortal Andy but also for the way Joe was shot in the shoulder without hesitation. Nicky's hand had been on the hilt of his sword, had been hungry for flesh and blood and justice. <em>Penance for their crimes, </em>he had thought but he had been pulled away before killing them. He had wanted to, had craved to cut through them like Moses had parted the red sea, had itched to stretch out his hands and bring them the wrath of God. He hated that part of himself, the part of himself that not only did the acts of the crusades but enjoyed them, had seen punishment in it. There was no God in that boy, only anger. Sometimes, on nights like these, he feared he had never stopped being that man. </p><p>Joe shushes him softly, pulls his hair a little tighter because he knows he needs it, and asks, cadence tender and merciful enough to verge tears on Nicolo's brims, "Do you need a pillow, my love? The floor will get uncomfortable." </p><p>He wants it to. Wants to feel the creak in his bones and the hardwood in his knees as penance for his own thoughts. It brings the random memory back to the forefront of his mind of the time he had stuck his hands in the dying flames of their fire when he had realized his feelings for Yusuf while watching him sleep - he's good at penance, feels more <em>appropriate</em> this way with pain flushing hot over his body as though it grants him the ability to repent his sins and with Yusuf's hand tugging at his hair in lulling interludes, he feels closer to a God than any crusade could have, than any violence could. </p><p><em>It's bizarre,</em> he thinks, looking up at Yusuf, with his gentle strength and his easy kindness, <em>that they call our love a sin when the closest I've ever known to true God Is on my knees for you. </em> </p><p>"No, I'm okay." His voice scratches out, broad shoulders stiffening as though he expects a slap that would never come - Joe's hands are crafted by Him to be an artist's hands, a lover's hands and Nicolo knows they would never bring harm to him; Joe's hands carry none of his late father's wrath had - and he doesn't think Joe would ever hit him, no hesitation that Joe would not strike him but he is instead stiffening at the lie. The lie that makes a minuscule grimace flash across Yusuf's handsome features and Nicolo craves to beg him to strike him for it - he deserves <em>something</em>, pain or forgiveness, from someone. He doesn't ask, too proud, too stubborn. </p><p>Joe seems to know by the sadness in his eyes.</p><p>"Nicolo," he praises as his own tongue had curled around 'God' as a young monk, "I would never harm you." </p><p>"I know." He gasps out like the breaths of a drowning man, like a sinner buried in a pew, because he does know that, is certain Joe would rather be struck dead than harm him but he needs something to make the feeling stop. He craves that clean slate of forgiveness, of a quiet, not violent mind. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he murmurs, "Pull my hair, please. Joe, please." </p><p>The pain in Joe's eyes ache but he knows he needs this, pulls the long strands at the back of his head hard like he too knows Nicky will cut it and is savoring them in a harsh embrace before pressing his forehead to his knee. His murmur is that of a church's or the wick that had burned in the monastery, "Let me praise you, Nicolo. Don't think." </p><p>The command is simpler than suspected, an easy two-word process that calculates like an order with no choice and he relaxes into the submission of it. </p><p>He doesn't know if he kneels for minutes or hours but his mind begins to swallow itself into the submission of his forehead propped on Yusuf's knee as fingers card through his hair as his own knees bruise and then heal in a pattern. He only becomes vaguely aware of the time when he realizes Yusuf is uttering praise to him when he props to take a gentle sip of water from the waterbottle Nicky forgot he brought in and he opens his mouth, allows the water to rush down his throat and Joe rubs his fringe away from his forehead before asking, "A pillow, dear Nicolo?" </p><p>He shakes his head again, penance loud as it rings through the room but for once, he wishes they <em>didn't </em>heal, wants to feel the ache in his bones from this tomorrow, or even see the blotches of black and purple bruises appear on his knees, would savor them in the mirror. Yusuf drops it, knows what he needs and that it isn't judgment - not that Joe would ever really judge him but kneeling like a patron saint, God himself may - or any questions. </p><p>Yusuf takes a kiss from him, one that he leans into happily with a grateful sigh. He can see in this husband's expression after they pull away that Joe is more relieved than he had been, had been reassured that his husband would be okay and as he kneels, Nicky is sure he'll be okay too. In deep breathes and reassuring hands on his shoulder blades, rubbing the kinks out of his back, he finds the hope that he will be okay in his clouded, submissive mindset. </p><p>It trickles by: mind submissive and heady in its headspace while his knees give their pleasant ache until the sun fully sets. </p><p>"Stand." Yusuf says, voice brokering no argument despite his normal tenderness still being there and Nicky feels his heart twinge at just how well his lover knows him, knows what he needs right now. He stands on unsteady legs between Joe's knees, looking at him with eyes too devoted not to be religion - he laughs softly, <em>nothing brings him to church quite like his love for Yusuf, his tender and good artist and lover. </em>It makes Joe smile a little and Nicky wonders if their shared destiny goes far enough into knowing that they think the same thing. </p><p>Joe's voice is a Bible, is religion, is a hymn when he murmurs, "You're beautiful, Nicolo, absolutely stunning." </p><p>He presses his forehead to Yusuf's lips to seek out kisses, which the older man happily delivers before he rasps out, "Are we going to bed?" </p><p>"We are," Yusuf confirms before beginning to undo his pants with his nimble, precise digits and leans down to kiss his husband again. He takes the kiss happily, Joe deepening the kiss to his floating mind and he's wracked by just how much he loves his husband, knows he can trust him, and never take advantage of this state he's in. </p><p>Them packing into bed isn't anything unusual, Nicky rolling to his left side to face the door and unconsciously, almost unaware, he checks the gun under the pillow in careful steps. Makes sure the clip is full and the safety's off with the sort of disconnect honed by this floaty mind space and years of practice while Joe cradles behind him. </p><p>He feels safe and a little more than he had before when fueled by anger, when the boy he was before had come out. </p><p>In his universe, Joe is all centering gravity and they both can feel his gratitude, he hopes. He appreciates the safety he feels in Joe's arms, and always will. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you like this! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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